


Steam and Water

by Schattengestalt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Body Worship, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, Protective John, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-20 06:51:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9480062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattengestalt/pseuds/Schattengestalt
Summary: Sherlock and John are supposed to enjoy a relaxing day at a spa, but a misunderstanding and long suppressed feelings almost ruin everything for them.





	1. Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This story has two chapters and I intend to post the next one in a couple of weeks. Let me know what you think of it. :)

### Scars

Sherlock loved swimming!

 

Somehow, that realisation was more astonishing to John than it probably should be. After all, a lot of people liked swimming and John certainly enjoyed doing laps well enough, but... this was Sherlock he was talking about. His annoying, brilliant and fucking gorgeous flatmate, who was swimming the crawl as if he hadn't done anything else all his life.

 

John shook his head in fond disbelief as he watched how Sherlock pushed off the opposite wall of the swimming pool and came back to John's side. He had lost count of how many laps Sherlock had done, but he was fairly certain that he was close to forty, if he hadn't already surpassed this number. John had done twenty laps and he wasn't as fast as Sherlock, therefore his calculation had to be accurate.

 

"Forty-five!"

 

He didn't even ask how Sherlock knew what John had been thinking about, when his brilliant friend grinned at him and wiped his wet curls from his forehead. John's hand itched to do it for him, to run his fingers through Sherlock's silky hair, down to his neck and then draw him closer and...

 

"John? Do you fancy the jacuzzi tub or do you want to catch up to my swimming record?" Sherlock was smirking at him, from where he was hanging from the edge of the pool. He was half way out of the water and John could already imagine just how much the red swimming trunks were going to stick to Sherlock's skin and... Groaning inwardly, John pushed these inappropriate thoughts away, before his body got the chance to catch up with his imagination and betray him. It was a miracle that it hadn't happened already - after having spent three hours with a half-naked and wet Sherlock Holmes - and John didn't want to push his luck.

 

"Jacuzzi tub sounds fantastic to me," he answered Sherlock's former question and couldn't stop his mouth from falling open, when his friend climbed out of the swimming pool in one smooth motion. Christ, but such a arse should be forbidden!

 

Sherlock's red swimming trunks clung to his perfectly rounded buttocks like they had been painted on them. They were probably tailored, if the way they nestled against Sherlock's thighs was anything to go by. John gulped heavily as he tried to come up with a picture that would quench his rising arousal, before he could make a fool of himself.

 

"Do you need a hand, John?"

 

Fucking hell!

 

John stared up at his grinning friend, who was crouched down next to the swimming pool and extended his hand to him. That certainly wasn't the picture that was going to help John to cool down. A dripping wet Sherlock Holmes, with shinning eyes and only wearing a thin piece of fabric - that cradled his crotch like a second skin - was rather the picture John would use to get a... rise out of his body. Speaking of a rise, John was certain that Sherlock's trunks wouldn't do anything to hide an erection from anyone, if it came to that - which he highly doubted. Still though, John couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock would react if his body betrayed him in such a way. Would he try to hide behind a towel or would he just strip off his trunks, because an erection would be less obvious without skin-tight fabric clinging to it. At least, John could imagine Sherlock arguing like this, even if they would be thrown out of the spa, if he started to run around naked and... bad idea to imagine this scenario. 

 

Heat crept in John's cheeks as he felt his body reacting to his imagination and he was just glad that his swimming trunks were longer and much looser than Sherlock's. No one was going to notice his little problem, if he got out of the water now. No one, besides the object of his desires. John almost groaned as he imagined how Sherlock would react to this new revelation. It wouldn't be disgust - he was certain of that - but rather curiosity and - or - confusion as to why John's body was reacting like this. John didn't know if he liked either option, especially as he was fairly certain that neither one would lead to the outcome John was secretly dreaming of. After all, Sherlock had made it clear more than once that he was exclusively married to his work and that he wasn't interested in a romantic or sexual relationship. It was rather unfair, when you considered that Sherlock was practically a walking God of sex. Not that this thought was helping John to get the control of his body back and neither did his grinning friend, who was still crouched down in front of him.

 

"Fine, I'll just leave you to," Blue eyes flickered over John's form and more heat rose in his cheeks as Sherlock gave him a knowing smirk. "Cool down and make sure that we have a jacuzzi tub to ourselves." The wink at the end of his words, almost took John's breath away as did the way, Sherlock swayed his hips as he walked in the direction of the jacuzzi tubs. Christ, was John going crazy or had Sherlock just... flirted with him?

 

It certainly seemed like he had, but... that was Sherlock, he was talking about here. Sherlock, who was able to turn his charm on whenever he thought it got him what he needed. It didn't matter that John couldn't think of a good reason for the behavior of his friend. After all, it was impossible to read the brilliant genius or understand the way his mind worked. Only Mycroft was able to read his brother - to an extent. Mycroft, who had gifted them with a day at a spa, after Sherlock had solved a mystery of national importance for his brother.

 

John freely admitted that the spa was fantastic. It was built in the style of Japanese thermal baths, but it also held a large swimming pool, saunas and a Turkish bath. Everything you needed to relax after an exhausting week of chasing after criminals. The chauffeur, who would bring them back to Baker Street in the evening was another plus factor, although they were only one hour away from central London. Yes, everything was perfect and John still felt like Mycroft was just sitting behind his desk - certainly the elder Holmes wouldn't stay at home, just because it was Sunday - and laughing about him. At first, John had assumed that Mycroft had wanted to annoy Sherlock by gifting him with a day at the spa, but considering that Sherlock loved it... Mycroft's plan had to be to embarrass John. Especially as he didn't dare hope that the elder Holmes hadn't noticed how John looked at Sherlock. Mycroft had probably calculated exactly how long John would be able to control his body before... Oh, John gripped at his crotch discretely and sighed in relief when he touched the soft flesh of his penis.

 

At least, thoughts of Mycroft were good for one thing, John noted with a slight smirk as he could finally leave the swimming pool to go after Sherlock. He just hoped that his friend hadn't angered too many people, while John hadn't been able to function as a puffer between him and the rest of the world.

 

OOO

 

"That's so gross!"

 

"I could never touch something like that!"

 

John straightened as he stepped into the jacuzzi tub - which was filled with bubbles - and ignored the words of the two young women as he sat down next to Sherlock. He didn't need to be a genius to know what the women were talking about. The scar on his shoulder was more than obvious - tangled up white lines that criss-crossed his skin - and he had learned to live with it. Of course, it had been hard at first, especially because the lines had been even more pronounced right after his return from Afghanistan.

 

So far, none of his former girlfriends had complained about it. Yes, some had been a little unsure about it - not knowing if they were supposed to touch the scar or not - but they hadn't given John the feeling that he should be ashamed of his scar. That was one reason, why he hadn't balked at the idea of going to the spa with Sherlock, because John wasn't afraid that people were going to stare at him. Not that they didn't stare sometimes, but their looks didn't make him feel self-conscious. So, he was just going to ignore these stupid women and enjoy the warmth of the jacuzzi tub...

 

"Do you think they are together? They sit so close." John clenched his fists at his side and forced himself not to look at the women. "Nah, do you really think such a gorgeous bloke would want such a damaged man?" 

 

John bit down hard on his lower lip. Couldn't these stupid bitches at least whisper, instead of talking so loudly? He really didn't want to be reminded of one of the many reasons why Sherlock would never even consider to be with him. Oh, not because of a scar - Sherlock was fascinated by scars - but rather because they were right and John was damaged in more than one way. The war had left its traces on him - not only on his body, but also on his mind - and John didn't think that Sherlock would ever want... even if he was interested in this sort of thing... if...

 

"If I were you," the scathing voice of his friend, cut right through John's thoughts. "I would rather worry about the state of your friendship, considering it's obvious that you," John looked up to see Sherlock pointing at the brunette. "Sleep with your," Sherlock pointed at the blond. "Husband. You aren't wearing identical earrings, because you are such good friends, but because the same man gave them to you as presents. Also, you keep glaring at the wedding ring of your friend, which indicates that you want her husband for you, but then you smirk, because you are aware that you already have him in more than one way."

 

The women stared at Sherlock, before looking at each other and even John could tell from the way, the blonde glared at her friend, that this day would end in a drama for both of them. Usually, John would have told Sherlock to leave them alone. This time though, he smirked gleefully as the women hurried out of the water, glaring daggers at each other and leaving Sherlock and him alone.

 

For a long time, the only noise was the bubbling of the water around them, before John turned towards his friend. "Thank you for... that was brilliant."

 

He was rewarded with a lopsided smile, when Sherlock met his eyes. "And I always thought that it's a bit not good when I deduce something so personal about people."

 

John merely shrugged. "They were real arseholes."

 

Sherlock just nodded and reached out a hand towards him. Startled, John blinked up at him and flinched back, when long fingers touched the scar tissues on his shoulder. "Christ, Sherlock!"

 

"Sorry," The hand of his friend still hovered mere inches away from his skin and John felt goose bumps rise all over his body. "Does it still hurt?"

 

There was genuine concern mirrored in Sherlock's eyes and John realised one more how easy it would be to get lost in them.. He had never seen eyes of such a fascinating shade of blue as Sherlock's. Looked at from the right angle, they even appeared to be green... or grey. But right now, they were the deepest and loveliest shade of blue John had ever seen and... He shook his head to stop himself from daydreaming and also as an answer to Sherlock's question. "No, it doesn't hurt. At least not right now, sometimes... when it's raining for days, then it's a little sore, but otherwise it`s fine."

 

Sherlock nodded again and John suspected that he had already figured out as much. Hell, his friend probably had a detailed spreadsheet about the circumstances under which John's shoulder gave him the most trouble. 

 

"Then why can't I touch it?"

 

John managed to smile and sigh at the same time. "Because you can't just touch the scars of people, without asking their permission."

 

A thoughtful expression flickered over Sherlock's features and John wondered if his friend really had been ignorant about this minor fact or if something else was running through his brilliant mind. Silence stretched between them and John leaned back against the edge of the jacuzzi tub and relaxed into the warm water as he left Sherlock to solve whatever puzzle had caught his attention. John knew from experiences that it was fruitless to continue a conversation, when Sherlock retreated to his Mind Palace. And truthfully, he didn't feel comfortable to continue a conversation about his scar.

 

So, it was with a start and a minor amount of shock that John's head jerked back up to meet Sherlock`s gaze, when the deep voice of his friend sounded next to him. "May I touch your scar?"

 

John blinked.

 

For a second, he believed that Sherlock was pulling his leg, but one glance at the serious expression of his friend taught him otherwise. Obviously, Sherlock had used the past few minutes to consider if touching John's scar was worth a polite question... as Sherlock never asked permission for anything.

 

A shudder ran down John's body when he imagined how it would feel if these long, warm fingers were to touch his scar. As he knew Sherlock, his friend would trace every angry line - no matter how faded it was - to feel the difference in texture. Afterwards, Sherlock would be able to tell John his whole medical history, concerning the bullet that had pierced his shoulder - starting with how many surgeries he had needed and ending with the list of medicaments he had had to take afterwards. Something prickled in the pit of his stomach at this thought. With only one touch, Sherlock would learn more about John's history - about his pain and suffering - than anyone else. It would be one of the most intimate gestures, John could imagine and if he was honest with himself, he wanted it to happen. He wanted Sherlock to touch his scar, to deduce him, to learn about him and accept John completely... and this was why John shook his head. 

 

"No, you may not."

 

Sherlock's face fell, but John held onto his resolve. He didn't know if he could survive this day with his dignity intact if he gave Sherlock the impression that it was acceptable to touch him. As John knew his friend, the scar on his shoulder would only be the beginning of a throughout examination of his body and because there wouldn't be any romantic or sexual intention behind it... it would be torture for John. He didn't fancy embarrassing himself at an exclusive spa.

 

"Why not?" John fought against a smile as Sherlock pouted at him. "I`m not the first one, who has touched it."

 

John rolled his eyes. "No, the first one was the doctor that stopped the bleeding on the battlefield, then came all the other doctors and nurses, who treated the infection and... No, you certainly wouldn't be the first one to touch it."

 

John had thought that his sarcastic reply would be enough to steer Sherlock away from the topic, but he wasn't so lucky. Obviously, Sherlock had grown as immune to his sarcasm, as John had grown immune - mostly - to Sherlock's biting remarks. "Don't pretend that only professionals have touched you. I'm sure most of your girlfriends weren't so squeamish as to be put off by a scar."

 

John sighed inwardly, obviously Sherlock didn't want to let go of this topic. "Well, but you aren't my girlfriend."

 

Amusement sparkled in Sherlock's eyes at the statement, but instead of leaping into a lecture about the ridiculousness of terms in regard to your significant other, he just directed a lazy smirk at John. "I hope you are aware that I'm never going to be your girlfriend," Sherlock emphasized the first syllables of the word. "I'm too much a man to be considered a woman," he added with a wink.

 

A blush crept into John's cheeks at these words. The way Sherlock had emphasized his statement, it sounded like... he could almost believe that Sherlock wasn't against entering a relationship with him. But... No, he was reading too much into his friend's words. It was far more realistic that Sherlock was just teasing him and trying to wear John out until he allowed his friend to touch his scar. He wouldn't be successful with this tactic if John had a say in it.

 

"You could still let me touch it, although I'm not your girlfriend." The amusement was still evident in Sherlock's voice, but it was starting to get on John's nerves. If he hadn't been hopelessly in love with the damn genius, it would have been easy for him to allow Sherlock to touch his scar, but as it was...

 

"No!"

 

Sherlock's lower lip trembled in a perfectly calculated way, when he blinked slowly at John. "Please?"

 

John gritted his teeth and shook his head. If Sherlock didn't stop right away, John would leave and take a cab back home. Mycroft could pay for it, for all that John cared.

 

"No!"

 

Sherlock's eyelashes flattered seductively and his lips turned slightly upwards. John had to swallow hard to stand that expression without giving himself away. If only Sherlock were looking at him like that, because he meant it and not just... because he wanted to satisfy his curiosity.

 

"Why not?"

 

John forced a glare on his face. "Because you are just my flatmate!"

 

As soon as the words had left his mouth, John wanted to take them back. Not only because they were so completely untrue, but also for the way Sherlock's face fell. Gone was the playful pout and the brightness of his eyes to be replaced by an expression of raw hurt. It almost choked John to see the pain in Sherlock's eyes and - worse - to know that he was the cause of it. But before he could say anything to sooth his friend, Sherlock's eyes turned to steel and his hurt was masked by an expression of disdain as he regarded John coldly. "In this case, I'm sorry that I overstepped my boundaries, John." Sherlock`s voice was overly polite and cold as he stood up and made to leave the jacuzzi tub. "I should have gathered as much from your statement to Sebastian. My apologizes!"

 

The words hit John like a punch in the gut and he gaped at Sherlock as he climbed out of the water and grabbed his towel before he marched away.

 

Christ, what had he done?!

 

John groaned as he leaned back in the jacuzzi tub. Why hadn't he just allowed Sherlock to touch his damned scar? Certainly, he was old enough to control his body, especially when his neither regions were hidden by bubbles of water, wasn't he? John wasn't so sure about that, but even some embarrassment would have been preferable to hurting Sherlock... again. He closed his eyes in despair as he recalled his first encounter with Sebastian Wilkes and how John had denied that he was Sherlock's friend, when the brilliant detective had introduced him as such. And all of it, just because John had been afraid of his own feelings at the time. Really, John thought with a bitter smile, Sherlock would be better off without as terrible a friend as he was.

 

OOO

 

"Because you are just my flatmate!"

 

The words echoed through Sherlock's mind, stabbed at his heart and sent a terrible ache through his whole body with every beat. It was ridiculous that these simple words should hurt him so much. After all, half of the Yarders threw nastier insults at him, whenever they got the chance. Being called someone's flatmate certainly shouldn't be worse than when Sally addressed him with Freak, whenever Sherlock came to a crime scene. Yet, feelings weren't logical - a fact, Sherlock distasted - and while he only shrugged when Sally insulted him, John's words... burned away at his heart.

Sherlock took a shuddering breath and barely registered how the hot air burned in his lungs as he mulled over his reaction to John's words once more. It wasn't that John had called him his flatmate that had hurt, but... it was the just. Sherlock smiled bitterly. Such a simple word and yet, it held so much meaning. It implied that there was no other connection between John and himself than 221B. Therefore, if one of them were to leave - rather John than Sherlock - there would be nothing left between them.

Sherlock's fingers dug into the soft flesh of his abdomen to distract himself from the pain that flared up in his chest at the thought. It wouldn't do him any good if he started whimpering while lying on his towel on a wooden bench in the sauna. He didn't want the other patrons in the sauna - mostly men expect for two women - to think that he couldn't stand the heat of the sauna and to make him leave. He needed some time to think things through and the sauna was the only quiet place at the spa.

Sherlock shifted a little and stretched his legs out as a burning sensation at his knees reminded him that it wasn't a good idea to keep them bent in the sauna. John would scold him if he saw red marks on his legs and... No, John probably wouldn't say anything. Sherlock snorted inwardly at his own stupidity to even entertain such a notion. John was only ever worried about serious injuries or when Sherlock hadn't eaten for days, because he was a doctor. It wasn't like John truly... cared about him.

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut when his throat constricted painfully at the truth. Moisture was burning behind his closed eyelids, but he didn't allow it to fall, although no one would have been the wiser. Most people were terrible at observing their surroundings and Sherlock should probably be grateful for that. After all, if John had been more observant these past few months, he would have noticed the signs of Sherlock's feelings for him. To Sherlock, his behavior had been quite obvious and had revealed just how much John meant to him - more than a friend.. All this time, he had waited with bated breath for John to pick up on it and - if Sherlock was very positive - tell him that he felt the same.

Stupid!

Sherlock swallowed against the lump in his throat. He would happily believe that the movement was only so hard because of his dry throat and the way his body was covered in sweat, but he wasn't so disenchanted. John had made it clear that he didn't see Sherlock as his friend - he had even told Sebastian as much - and Sherlock had still tried to read more into his kind gestures than was obviously there.

Pathetic!

"Excuse me, Sir!" Sherlock turned his head in the direction of the voice - only a feet away from him - and lifted one eye to regard the young man coldly. He wasn't in the mood for someone hitting on him in the sauna. Sherlock almost said as much, when the stranger spoke again. "You were already in here, when I entered the sauna and I have spent the maximum of fifteen minutes in here by now. It's unwise to stay for longer than fifteen minutes at the sauna."

Sherlock opened his other eye as well and sat up slowly. He didn't have any problems with being naked in front of strangers, but he certainly didn't like lying down while he had a conversation with one. His head started spinning, when he moved and Sherlock realised that it hadn't been his best idea to lie down in the sauna to go through his conversation with John.

"Is there a swimming pool in the naturism area to cool down?" Of course, Sherlock could also go back to the textile area, but the chances that he would meet John there, were significantly higher than if he stayed here. After all, John had made it quite clear that he wasn't going to the sauna with Sherlock - when they had arrived - because he didn't like wandering around naked in front of strangers.

The young man nodded and pointed in one direction. "There is a small swimming pool between some rocks, it almost looks like a small pond and it's perfect to cool down."

Sherlock nodded his thanks and grabbed his towel to leave the sauna - walking carefully, because his head was still spinning with the motion - and was relieved when the young man turned to walk away with his friends in the other direction. He had never been overly fond of someone hitting on him, while he was naked. Certainly not since... Sherlock scoffed at himself, when he climbed down a couple of stairs to the swimming pool. Firstly, he got emotional, because John didn't see him as a friend and now he was even recalling that old story. Really, pathetic!

Sherlock didn't pay the beautiful arrangement of rocks and plants around the swimming pool a second glance. He only noted that no other patrons were in sight, before he threw his towel on a bench and stepped into the water. It was comfortably cold - not freezing at all - and Sherlock sighed with relief as his overheated body was completely surrounded by it. The water only reached up to his chest, but he still took a few strokes to the other side of the swimming pool. Sighing contently, Sherlock put his arms on the edge of the pool and bedded his head on them, allowing his body to relax a little. 

He didn't raise his head when footsteps sounded near the pool, nor did Sherlock look up when someone else - a man, judging from his steps - climbed into the water. He kept his eyes closed, forcing himself not to think of John and how hard it would be to meet him after their last conversation, when the movement of the water told him that the stranger was getting to his side of the pool. His body tensed, but Sherlock forced himself to remain calm. It was unlikely that the incident from fifteen years ago would repeat itself. He was irrational.

The movement of the water stopped and Sherlock congratulated himself for remaining calm, when something touched his leg. A second later, the stranger resurfaced just behind Sherlock and gasped for breath. It was one second, before strong arms closed around Sherlock's chest from behind and a straining erection was pressed against his buttocks. One second, in which Sherlock could have punched the man to render him immobile. One second, in which Sherlock didn't do so much as breath as his body froze in remembered horror as stubbly lips were pressed to his ear. "Want to have some fun, Gorgeous?"

A tremor ran through Sherlock's body and he couldn't throw off the wandering hands of the stranger as one went for his cock, while the other wandered to his buttocks. Sherlock knew that he was more than capable of fighting the man off, but his body was paralyzed with terror and the quiet "No" that fell from his lips only gained him a weak chuckle from the stranger. "Don't be a prude, I know that you want it!"

Fingers closed around his limb cock, a hard erection rubbed against his buttocks, a finger pressed against his hole and Sherlock was only able to whimper as the past seemed to repeat itself.

OOO

Where was Sherlock?

John had spent a few minutes in some kind of daze, after his stupid remark to Sherlock, before he had found the courage to leave the jacuzzi tub to start his search. He had been sure that he would find his friend in one of the swimming pools, sulking and in a very bad mood, but that assumption had been proven wrong. Sherlock wasn't in one of the various swimming pools, nor was he on a sun lounger, in the green area - for the first time in his life, John had hoped that Sherlock was smoking outside - or at the restaurant. No, there was no sign of his friend and if John hadn't found Sherlock's locker undisturbed, he would have believed that his friend had ordered the chauffeur to bring him back to Baker Street.

John tore at his hair in frustration and let his eyes wander over the various alcoves, which were designed as hiding places for couples in every swimming pool. He had checked them all, but he hadn't found Sherlock - only four annoyed couples - and John was almost at his wits end.

"You great, fucking idiot!" He muttered and ignored the strange looks some of the other patrons sent him. After all, they didn't know how badly he had just fucked up everything. Instead of leaving the jacuzzi tub and ignoring Sherlock for some time, until his friend realized that touching John's shoulder was out of question, he had... He had basically told Sherlock that there was nothing else between them than 221B.

The image of Sherlock's hurt expression ghosted through his mind's eye and John swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Great, fucking great! There, he had sworn that he would always protect Sherlock - no matter if from murderers or the brilliant genius himself - and then, there John was, hurting his friend worse than anyone else ever had. Christ, this was a mess and John could only blame himself for it. If he had only showed Sherlock what he truly felt for him then... he might have been rejected, but Sherlock would at least have known that his friend loved him. And maybe, only maybe... No, John forbad himself to follow this train of thought. Before he could even allow himself to entertain such fantasies, he had to apologize to Sherlock... and he should better do it fast, before Sherlock had the time to doubt every aspect of their friendship.

Once more, his eyes wandered over the various swimming pools, before they landed on the stairs to the area upstairs and John almost slapped himself for his own stupidity. Of course, John realized, as he hurried to his sun lounger to retrieve his towel and then climbed up the stairs, if Sherlock didn't want to see him, he would be up there. John had made it clear from the start that he wouldn't go to the naturism area and Sherlock had obviously believed that John didn't want to run around naked among strangers. To tell the truth, John didn't have any troubles with shrugging out of his swimming trunks and wrapping the towel around his hips. After his days spent in the army, it wasn't any real hardship for him to be naked in front of strangers. Besides, John didn't think that there was anything wrong with his body - except maybe for the scar on his shoulder. Of course, he wasn't as beautiful as Sherlock... but who was? John pushed that picture of his naked friend back in his mind, before it could affect his body in any obvious ways. That was exactly the reason why he hadn't wanted to go to the naturism area with Sherlock - too much temptation.

John sighed and then tried to decide in which direction he should turn. The naturism area was as large as the area downstairs - with a lot of saunas, steam baths and lounge areas - and John didn't know where to start looking. He couldn't just peek in every sauna at the off chance of finding his friend. No, that wouldn't be well received by the other patrons.

Another sigh and John decided that he would ask some people if they had seen Sherlock. No women, as he didn't want them to think that he was hitting on them and most men weren't that easily alarmed even if they thought that he approached them with second thoughts in mind.

Squaring his shoulders, John went to a group of younger men - in their late twenties, he presumed - and plastered a tight smile on his lips. "Excuse me, I was wondering if you had seen my friend? He is in his thirties, tall, dark curls, pale skin." 

John didn't flinch as one of the man regarded him with a disgusted sneer. "If you have lost your plaything, it's not our business, Faggot!"

John narrowed his eyes at him. He didn't care how this idiot insulted him, but no one called Sherlock a plaything to his face. "I asked you if you had seen my friend and you jump to the conclusion that we are a couple right away. If I were you, I would ask myself why you came to that conclusion so fast!" The man bristled and if it hadn`t been for his buddies, John was sure that this would have led to a nice, little fist fight. As it was, they hurried him away, before anything could happen and John was almost disappointed that he hadn't gotten the chance to teach the asshole some manners.

"Excuse me." John turned around to meet the nervous gaze of a stranger. "I couldn't help but overhear your... conversation and I think that I have seen your friend. Your description certainly fits a man, I have seen in the sauna. He was there for about twenty minutes or longer and he had obviously forgotten the time. Therefore I recommended the swimming pool to him, to cool down a little."

Forgotten the time in a sauna... Yes, that definitely sounded like Sherlock. John grimaced at the thought that his friend had pushed his body to its limits once more. He just hoped that he hadn't passed out somewhere after leaving the sauna. "Where is the swimming pool, you recommended to him?" After being shown into the general direction, John threw a short "Thank you." over his shoulder and hurried off.

The swimming pool was fairly easy to find and John breathed a sigh of relief, when he spotted Sherlock at the other end of the swimming pool. The relief was short lived though as John watched how another man approached his friend from behind. Anger welled up in John as the stranger slung his arms around Sherlock and pressed his body to the backside of his friend. 

How dare he?!

John clenched his fists at his side and was barely able to keep himself from jumping into the water right away. Sherlock wouldn't thank John for finding him in such a position, especially when his friend was more than capable of throwing that bastard off and...

"Don't be such a prude, I know that you want it!"

John bristled at the words of the stranger, but it was the low whimper from Sherlock that got him moving. He didn't know why his friend wasn't fighting back against this bastard, but it was obvious that Sherlock didn't want the man's attention and John wouldn't stand by and watch his friend being molested by some stupid wanker.

"HEY!" The voice that had kept recruits in line and made his fellow soldiers respect him, was still effective as the stranger flinched and backed away from Sherlock. Throwing his towel to the ground, John jumped into the water and crossed the swimming pool with a few long strokes. "What do you think, you are doing?" John's words were a low growl as pressed his arm to the chest of the stranger and pushed him against the edge of the pool.

"I... it was consensual, we were just..."

"Don't. Fuck. With. Me!" John hissed and moved his arm up higher to press against the larynx of the man, whose eyes widened in fear. Good, hopefully he would piss himself for what he had done to Sherlock. John glanced at his friend, who was still leaning against the edge of the pool - faint tremors running through his thin frame - without even looking at them. A cold fist closed around John's insides and he increased the pressure against the man's larynx. The stranger coughed, but John just glared coldly at him. "What did you do to him?"

Sherlock had never been that thrown by a physical assault and John couldn't remember a time, when his friend hadn't fought back against an attacker. Rationally, John knew that the bastard hadn't had much time to do anything, but still...

"I... touched him." The voice of the man was rather strained, but John didn't even think of loosening his hold on the man. 

"Where?" It was barely a snarl and the man winced when John`s fingernails dug into his skin.

"His... cock and... behind... please, I didn't mean to... let me go..."

For a second, John felt like crushing the larynx of the bastard with a simple movement of his fingers - army training was rather handy - and leaving it to Mycroft to sort out the mess. He was quite certain that Sherlock's brother would happily cover a murder, if he got to know that the victim had been about to... rape his little brother. And it was this thought, that made John let go of the man and swing his arm back in a furious motion. The cracking of bones - zygomatic bone and nasal bone, the doctor in him supplied - was music to John's ears as was the suppressed scream of the bastard. John grabbed his chin and forced him to meet his eyes. "If you ever get near him again, you won't survive it. I'm a doctor, I know how to cause maximum pain, without killing you right away. Are we clear?!"

The bastard squeaked something in agreement and John shoved him away. He only waited until he was out of the water and stumbled away from the swimming pool, before he turned back to Sherlock. His friend was staring at him - eyes wide and lips trembling - and John did the only thing, he could think of... he crossed the remaining inches between them and enfolded Sherlock in his arms.

OOO

He was trembling.

Sherlock took a shaky breath and tried to force his body into stillness, but it was to no avail. If possible, the trembling grew even worse and Sherlock cursed his transport for its traitorous behavior. After all, there was no logical reason for such a humiliating act like trembling, now that John was here.

John!

Sherlock pressed his nose into the crook of John's shoulder and inhaled deeply. The scents of chlorine and fresh sweat enfolded him, underlined by the unique and comforting scent of John.

John, who had saved him once more. John, who was holding him close and rubbing soothing circles on his back. John, who... had seen him at his most pathetic. A chocked breath - it wasn't a sob - escaped Sherlock's lips and warm hands tightened on his back. "It's alright, Sherlock. I have got you, that bastard won't hurt you anymore."

Oh God, John thought that Sherlock couldn't even protect himself, that he was... weak!  
Sherlock pressed his eyes shut and cursed himself, even as he slung his arms around John's waist to hold him close.

Of course, John thought that he was weak, Sherlock reminded himself bitterly. What else would he think, after Sherlock hadn't even been able to fight of a random stranger? He shouldn't have had any trouble with punching the man in his stupid face and teach him a lesson. Instead, Sherlock hadn't even found the strength to scream for help. He had just stood there and allowed that bastard to... A violent shudder ran down his spine. Sherlock could still feel where the stranger had touched him, where his hand had closed around his penis and where his finger had pressed into...

"Shh, Sherlock, breathe! Calm down! Breathe!" John's arms let go of his back and suddenly Sherlock was face to face with his friend, who cupped his cheeks in his hands. Worry was mirrored clearly in his eyes. Worry and... anger. Anger at the stranger, who had attacked Sherlock. But no pity or disgust. A slow breath was squeezed out of his lungs and some part of Sherlock noted that he must have started hyperventilating at some point, when his head became a little clearer. He took another careful breath and held it in, before letting go of it and John gifted Sherlock with a quivering smile for his efforts. "See, that's better."

Sherlock nodded and averted his eyes. Even if John didn't pity him, Sherlock was certain that the questions would start soon. John knew that Sherlock was more than capable of holding his own in a fight and he would want to know what had been different this time. And Sherlock didn't know if he could reveal...

"Are you... how do you feel?"

Sherlock scoffed at the question and shrugged. Honestly, he didn't even know how he was feeling right now or what he was supposed to feel. His mind - which had never betrayed him before - was caught in a whirlwind of emotions and Sherlock hated it. Certainly, it wasn't appropriate to feel so... raw after a minor sexual assault, right? Especially, as it wasn't the first time that it had happened. Sherlock clenched his fists at his side and tried to push these particular memories away to where they belonged - in a dark room in the cellar of his Mind Palace - as deleting them had never been possible. One should think that a man of thirty-two wasn't as affected by a few touches as a seventeen year old boy, but obviously Sherlock was still as pathetic as he had been when...

"Hey," John's tender, but worried voice, brought Sherlock back to the present. "Don't retreat in your mind, now. Talk to me, please."

It took all of Sherlock's willpower, but in the end, he could plaster a sneer on his face and meet John's eyes with a cold glare. "What's there to talk about, John?! I was sexually assaulted, you saved me - just like you always do - and it's over now. No need to have a heart-to-heart talk, especially since it was neither the first time nor should you worry about it, seeing that you are just my flatmate!"

John visibly flinched, but he neither moved away from Sherlock nor returned his glare with one of his own. If there was one word to describe John's facial expression right now it would be... sadness. 

Sherlock gulped. He didn't want John to be sad - even after he had made it clear that he didn't see him as a friend - but he also didn't want John to pretend that he cared for him. It was one thing if John patched him back together after a fight with a criminal - that was purely physical - but if he started to comfort Sherlock now and then stopped when he thought his duty was done... that would be unbearable.

"I`m sorry."

Sherlock blinked. John didn't look sad anymore, but fairly miserable, rather like he was going to retch at any second now. Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What are you sorry for? You were here in time and you aren't responsible for the actions of some sick pervert."

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say, as John's expression fell even farther and he bit down on his lower lip. A sure sign that he was nervous and - or - uncomfortable. Sherlock wasn't sure which one it was or what could have brought either feeling on. But it was certainly better to analyze John's emotions than to concentrate on his own. Therefore, Sherlock didn't really mind that John's mood was a mystery to him for the time being. Maybe, John was...

"I'm sorry for telling you that you were just my flatmate, you git." 

A thick lump formed in Sherlock's throat and he had to swallow a few times, before he trusted his voice again to risk a reply. "You don't have to say that, John. I know that I'm hard to live with and almost impossible to like and if you..."

"Stop it!"

There was anger in John's voice, which stood in stark contrast to the glistening moisture in his clear, blue eyes as he gazed up at Sherlock. "Yes, you are hard to live with, but I enjoy living with you and I... I like you, you idiot. You are my friend and what I said back then was... absolutely stupid of me to say, since it wasn't true. There was never anything that was less true than that I see you as just a flatmate. Sherlock, you are," John licked his lips nervously and Sherlock felt his own heart rate increase as he waited with bated breath for the end of the sentence. "You are never a just. Not to me. Never." 

A hitched breath rushed past Sherlock's lips as he scanned John's face for any signs of deceitfulness, but found none. Every evidence pointed to the fact that John was telling the truth. From the anxious biting of his lips, to his straight posture - ready to fight for Sherlock to believe him - and the open look in his eyes. John meant it, he considered himself to be Sherlock's friend and Sherlock had been stupid for rushing off after one angry remark from him. Stupid emotions!

"Fine, but if you didn't mean it, why did you say it, then?"

This time, John closed his eyes as if searching for strength in a hidden place of his mind. Sherlock knew that expression and he had come to hate it, as John always wore it, whenever he went out on the first date with a new girlfriend. But there was no girlfriend present at the moment, his mind pointed out to Sherlock, but he ignored it. No reason to get up his hopes and become greedy, just because John had made their friendship official. It was impossible that John would ever consider him as more than a friend. Sherlock should be thankful for what he had gotten and be content with it.

"I didn't want you to touch my scar." Sherlock frowned at that statement. "Obviously, I gathered that much from your behavior."

An exasperated sigh escaped John and Sherlock's lips quirked up in the illusion of a smile. It was the same sigh, he always got to hear, whenever John found new body parts in the fridge. "I didn't want you to touch it, because I was afraid of how I would react if you did."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side at this cryptically statement that could mean quite a lot of things. "Were you afraid to get a flashback?"

Another sigh - this time deeper - and John shook his head. "No, that wasn't it... it was... Oh to hell with it!" Sherlock yelped in surprise as John's arms closed around him once more and drew him close against the warm body of his friend. "Feel free to punch or drown me, if you don't like it!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to question John's actions, but he didn't get the time to voice them as determined lips sealed his own. A gasp escaped Sherlock, even as his eyes fluttered close and his arms came around John of their own accord. Drowning John wasn't even an option as Sherlock returned the kiss cautiously.


	2. Balm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it took me longer than planned to update this story, but RL - in the form of exams at college and other stuff - came up and delayed this update. I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think about it. :) And everyone who can guess what movie Sherlock and John watch, gets a cookie.*winks*
> 
>  
> 
> On a different note: I know that everyone deals differently with sexual assault and this story just shows one possible way of how Sherlock might deal with it, in this specific setting.

### Balm

They were kissing!

 

John's mind was still trying to process this new development, while his body didn't have any problems to adjust to the new sensations. His lips moved against Sherlock's, tasting chloric water and the underlying taste of the man himself. John drew his friend even closer, until their naked chests were pressed flush together. Warmth spread through his whole body, when heat rushed towards his groin. It was then, that John broke their kiss with a gasp.. He didn't want to go there just yet and here. Especially not after what had happened to Sherlock just a few minutes ago. The memory of his friend shaking and trembling in his arms - and all for the wrong reasons - was still to vivid in his mind and John didn't want to push Sherlock too far too fast.

 

He brought some distance between them once more, but allowed his hands to linger on Sherlock's shoulders as he looked up in the dazed, blue eyes of his friend. "Alright?" John asked carefully, a little unsure how they should proceed now. Hell, he had imagined this moment - their first kiss - for months now and in most of his imagined scenarios a kiss had led to them making out on the couch or the bed... or at a crime scene. John certainly hadn't dreamed about kissing Sherlock right after he had just been sexually assaulted and...

 

"You were afraid that your body's reaction to my touch would betray your attraction to me." Sherlock sounded awed, but John felt that he had to correct him, before his brilliant friend came to the wrong conclusions. "Spot on, although it's not just attraction, that I feel for you. I... I care very deeply for you, Sherlock. Deeper than I would ever care for a friend, even for a best friend, although you are my best friend, that goes without saying, but... you are more and... I'll just shut up."

 

A sly grin ghosted over Sherlock's features, when he dipped his head forward to breath a gentle kiss on John`s lips. "You are an idiot, John. If you had just told me, none of this would have happened. No, I mean," John watched worriedly as all the color drained from Sherlock's face at his own words. "I don't mean that you are responsible for... It's my own fault and..."

 

"Stop!" 

 

To John's great astonishment, Sherlock closed his mouth with a snap, but the haunted expression remained in his eyes. Dear God, John sighed inwardly, how could Sherlock believe that it had been his fault that he had been sexually assaulted? Or was he referring to the fact that he hadn't fought back? Well, that was certainly strange, but it didn't put the blame on Sherlock's shoulders. Especially, when he had told John that it hadn't been the first time... that he had been seventeen, when... Oh Fuck! 

 

John took a deep breath as he finally realised what Sherlock's words implied - or what they could imply. They really needed to talk, before they progressed any farther and John ended up making a mistake, he could never hope to undo.

 

"You aren't to blame for anything that happened today. Don't even think that!" Sherlock nodded, but it was obvious that he wasn't convinced and John sighed loudly. "Look, I think it's better if we cut this trip short and head home, if that's fine with you." John really didn't want to have a discussion about Sherlock's past or their developing relationship here. Baker Street was a much safer place and John longed for a hot cup of tea and their comfortable armchairs.

 

Either Sherlock felt the same way or he just wanted to humor John, but he nodded his agreement, still a wary look on his face as he led the way out of the swimming pool. John died to know what was going on in the brilliant mind of his friend, when they gathered their things and hurried to the changing rooms. He didn't like Sherlock's silence or the way his sharp eyes darted to John, only to flicker away a second later. Was he regretting their kiss, because he didn't return John`s feelings? No, John dismissed that thought as he applied cream to his face, in front of the mirror - after having changed back in his street clothes. Sherlock would have rejected him right away, if John's advances hadn't been welcome and he had even initiated one brief kiss.

 

A small smile flickered over his face as John remembered Sherlock's lips on his own, before it was gone as John caught his friend's gaze in the mirror. Sherlock looked... as if he was wandering through a mine field and feared that the next step could prove fatal.

 

John blinked.

 

Was Sherlock afraid that John could get second thoughts and tell him that everything had been a mistake and that he had changed his mind about his feelings?! It was ridiculous, at least from John's point of view, but that didn't mean that it couldn't be true. Sherlock always tended to over think everything and after the events of today...

 

John grabbed his sports bag and his towel and strove over to where Sherlock was standing motionless in front of the hair driers. "You will catch a cold if you don't dry your hair. Here, lean forward." The raised eyebrow came closer to a Sherlock typical expression, although he did as John had told him.

 

Blue eyes widened as John started rubbing at the damp curls with the towel. "You are not my mother." 

 

The protest was weak and John didn't pay it any mind, as Sherlock didn't make any attempt at stepping away from him. "No, but I'm the one who would have to put up with your whining if you got a cough and a sore throat." 

 

This got John a pout. "I never whine."

 

John chuckled and retrieved the towel, running his fingers through the silky curls, before Sherlock straightened back up to his full height. "Are we finally free to leave, now that you have made sure that my hair is dry?"

 

John chuckled at Sherlock`s exasperated tone, relieved that his friend sounded a little more like himself again. "We could have been gone ages ago, if you had been able to dry your hair yourself." 

 

Sherlock opened his mouth for a retort, but John saw as it died on his tongue as he reached for Sherlock's hand and interlaced their fingers. Wide eyes stared at the intertwined hands and then back up at John. Wonder, disbelief and confusion clearly written on Sherlock`s striking features as if no one had ever held his hand before. Maybe, no one had.

 

John swallowed against the hot lump in his throat and gave Sherlock's hand a reassuringly squeeze. He usually wasn't fond of displaying public affection, but it appeared like Sherlock needed the reassurance that John wouldn't change his mind about them on their way back to Baker Street. And now, John was even glad that he had reached out to his friend, if only to see the small smile brighten up Sherlock's face. He smiled back and they left the spa in mutual and comfortable silence. A black limousine was already waiting for them and the chauffeur put their bags into the boot, while Sherlock and John climbed in at the back of the car. They still didn't talk, when the engine was started and the chauffeur maneuvered them out of the small parking area and onto the highway back to London. Nevertheless, it wasn't an awkward silence and John felt himself smile softly, when Sherlock tentatively bedded his head on John's shoulder. Blue eyes looked up at John, a question written in their depths. Instead of an answer, John merely slung his arm around Sherlock's shoulders and held his friend close, who slowly relaxed into the contact.

 

They spent the remainder of the drive like this, in mutual agreement that words could wait until later and enjoyed the comfortable closeness as they neared Baker Street.

 

OOO

 

Home!

Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief and threw his sports bag in a corner, before he went to hang up his coat and scarf. John was already rummaging through the kitchen and Sherlock knew that he was making tea, even before the kettle was clicked on. Some of the tension drained from Sherlock's body as he listened to the well-known sounds of opened cupboards in the kitchen. It was soothing to know that there were still some things that would never change - like John making tea as soon as they got home from an exhausting day.

 

And the day had been exhausting. Sherlock wouldn't deny it, although he hated to admit that the events at the spa had put an emotional strain on him. It didn't help matters that John had kissed him. Oh, alright... It helped, but it didn't make anything less confusing. Sherlock was the first to admit that he hadn't seen the kiss coming - although he had fantasized about their first kiss for quite some time - and that John's attraction to him hadn't been obvious. Fine, in retrospect, Sherlock could see the signs - prolonged eye contact, faint blushes whenever Sherlock wandered through the flat in nothing but a sheet - but he hadn't noticed them before today. Probably, because Sherlock hadn't allowed himself to hope that John would ever return his feelings and even now... it felt like a dream and Sherlock dreaded the moment when he would wake up.

 

"Two sugar and a splash of milk." The mug was placed on the kitchen table with a smile and Sherlock sat down heavily, cradling the mug in his hands and blowing over the rime on the hot liquid. "Thank you." John smiled again - his genuine, relaxed smile - and took his place across the table from Sherlock.

 

They alternated between blowing at their tea and staring at each other, until Sherlock couldn't stand it anymore. The comfortable silence from the ride back to London had long since faded away into strained tension and Sherlock was aware of the reason for it.

 

"You want to talk." That much had been obvious, since they had left the swimming pool and Sherlock couldn't blame John for his curiosity. Not after everything he had done for Sherlock - not just today, but countless times - and especially not after confessing his feelings to Sherlock. Still this was the point, Sherlock was most nervous about. He didn't doubt that John had meant what he had said - that he cared for Sherlock and was attracted to him - but Sherlock feared that some of it had to be blamed on the situation. After all, John had just witnessed how a stranger had assaulted his friend. For John, it would be easy to translate sympathy into a different kind of fondness and if that was the case, then John would soon come back to his senses and...

 

"Don't!"

 

Sherlock looked up to meet narrowed blue eyes. "I know what you are doing, you are questioning my feelings for you. Stop it this instant, before I get angry." The threat would have been more believable, if John hadn't reached across the table for Sherlock's hand. After a second of hesitation, Sherlock loosened his grip on the mug and placed his hand on the table, close to John's. A tender smile softened the lines of John's face as he cradled Sherlock's hand in his. "I meant every word I said and I only regret," Sherlock's heart stuttered in his chest as a wave of anxiety washed over him. "I regret, that I didn't tell you all of it before today and that I was such an arse in the jacuzzi tub."

 

Sherlock shrugged dismissively, but he wasn't able to hide his relief completely as John gave his hand a squeeze. They stayed like this for some time - holding hands across the table like teenagers - until the tension from before had drained completely out of the kitchen. Only then, Sherlock cleared his throat and chose his words carefully as he prepared himself to tell John what had happened all these years ago.

 

"I was seventeen. Mummy thought it would be nice to go to a spa, because Mycroft was home from university. She was especially thrilled about the naturism area." Sherlock grimaced at that and to his delight found an answering, disgusted expression on John's face. "Ta, now I'll always think of Mycroft running around naked."

 

Sherlock grinned. "It might help you to summon that picture, when he kidnaps you the next time." They both snorted, before Sherlock became serious again. "I wasn't thrilled by the idea, but I got along with it... Mummy threatened to throw out all of my experiments if I didn't. It was... nicer than I had thought at first. The spa was large and I was able to wander around, without having to interact with Mycroft. I also ventured into the naturism area and there was a large jacuzzi tub. I was alone, when I entered it." 

 

Sherlock gulped and stared down at the table. John gave his hand a little squeeze, but he didn't urge Sherlock to continue. Still, Sherlock suddenly felt that he needed to disclose everything about this horrible day. Not just because John deserved to know, but... because Sherlock wanted to. "I didn't notice the man at first. He was in his thirties, thin hair and a moustache. I wasn't thinking anything of it, when he sat down next to me, until suddenly... his hands were all over me." A shudder ran through his body as the memories played out in his mind's eye. "I wasn't very strong at that time. I spent more time reading than doing sports and he... it was easy for him to press me against the wall of the tub. He... he got farther than the pervert today, but not... Mycroft interfered."

 

Sherlock took a shuddering breath and John tightened his hold on Sherlock's hand. "I hope Mycroft broke that bastard`s nose!"

 

Sherlock's eyes jerked up at the tone of John's voice. Anger, bordering on rage, but also helplessness and something tender that Sherlock couldn't identify. Still no pity or disgust. "I believe, Mycroft also broke his arm and bruised his testicles. I have never seen him this angry before. I guess, finding your sobbing brother with the fingers of a stranger up his arse does that to you."

 

His attempt at humor - macabre as it was - wasn't well received and Sherlock's blood turned to ice in his veins as John let go of his hands. Well done, Holmes, he scolded himself, now John is truly disgusted with you for your choice of words and you will be lucky if he still wants to be friends with you.

 

Steps echoed through the kitchen as John walked around the table - probably going to bolt for the door - and stopped right in front of him. "John..." Sherlock gasped as strong arms closed around him and the scent of tea, lavender and cheap aftershave filled his senses, when he was pressed against John's soft cardigan.

 

"I wondered all this time why you didn't fight back today." Sherlock tensed, preparing himself for accusations... that never came. "Now, I know why you didn't... couldn't." Sherlock peeked up at that and rubbed his cheek against the soft wool that he had come to associate with John. He hadn't figured out himself why his body and mind had frozen, when the pervert had attacked him, but maybe John as a doctor knew what all of this was about. 

 

"It's like that time at the clinic, when I had a bloke with stabbing wounds on the table... I couldn't treat him. My mind just froze and I felt like... I was back in Afghanistan at the day, when... I was shot, while patching up a comrade. It was a flashback and I just couldn't... I felt so helpless..." John chocked on the last words and Sherlock tightened his arms around him, even as a wave of relief surged through his body. He wasn't weak for not defending himself today, if even soldiers like John experienced this kind of flashbacks - although Sherlock still hated his mind for the trick it had played on him.

 

"So, it`s all fine?" Sherlock asked, only to be sure. The press of dry lips to Sherlock's forehead was John's answer.

 

Sherlock relaxed into the embrace - which didn't nearly last as long as he had wished - until John drew back a little. His brows were furrowed in concern as he looked down at him and Sherlock raised an inquiring eyebrow. "What?"

 

John bit down on his lower lip, but remained silent, obviously nervous to speak his mind. Sherlock swept his gaze over his friend. His posture made it obvious that he was curious about something - curious and anxious - but it wasn't clear what John was thinking about. From Sherlock's point of view, everything had been said and discussed - he even felt some kind of relief after sharing his past with John - so what... Oh, of course!

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and huffed. "No, that pervert didn't scare me off of sex - neither one of them did- although it certainly helped that my first lover was extremely... kind and gentle." Heat crept into Sherlock's cheeks and he looked up to check John's expression for any signs of jealousy at the mention of a former lover. All, Sherlock saw mirrored in John's eyes though, was relief. "You know, if you were worried that I wouldn't want to have sex with you - which isn't the case - you could have just asked."

 

Relief morphed into low simmering anger as John glared at Sherlock and grabbed his chin.  
"Listen to me, Sherlock," John's warm breath tickled Sherlock's skin as John brought their faces to the same level. "I didn't worry if you wanted to have sex with me. I`m glad that you do, but I rather feared that you were traumatized by the assault in your youth."

 

Sherlock swallowed hard and then voiced the first question that came to his mind. "What would you have done if I were... traumatized and didn't want to have sex with you?"

 

It was a rather stupid question, since it was only hypothetical - Sherlock had wanted to have sex with John for quite some time - but somehow he needed to get an answer, if only to know where he stood. Still, Sherlock expected John to tell him that a romantic relationship wouldn't have worked in this case and this would be fine, Sherlock told his rapidly beating heart. After all, it wasn't an actual problem and therefore John's reply wasn't of any importance for their future... but it still made him gasp in disbelief. "Then we wouldn't have sex. I'm rather fond of kissing and cuddling and I wouldn't have given you up for the world, therefore... sex wouldn`t have been necessary."

 

Sherlock blinked and blinked once more, when John's face blurred in front of him. Christ, was he crying? Judging from the wetness on his cheeks and the faint scent of salt... Yes, Sherlock Holmes, only consulting detective in the world, was crying. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was John going to... Oh!

 

Sherlock froze as tender lips kissed over his cheeks, licked away the offending liquid and then moved to Sherlock's mouth to share the most tender kiss with him. After what felt like hours, but could have only been a few minutes, they came back for air and Sherlock was treated to one of John's brilliant smiles. "Chinese takeaway?"

 

Sherlock nodded and listened to John placing orders for their favorite dishes as he licked his lips and still felt the prickle of John's stubble on his skin.

 

Sherlock glanced in John's direction and wondered when he would get the chance to feel this lips on other parts of his body. He hoped it would be soon - preferably tonight - as Sherlock felt the overwhelming urge of getting as close to John as humanly possible. Not even he could say if this desire steamed more from his feelings for John, the traumatic events of the day or a mix of both. It didn't matter in the end, because Sherlock trusted John and they would figure it out together.

OOO

 

"That's absolute nonsense! The likelihood that you could jump from one building to another with a car - especially if said buildings are skyscrapers with reinforced glass fronts - are nil!"

 

John chuckled, while he listened to Sherlock's complaints about the movie. It wasn't new that his friend took every chance to criticize John's taste in movies and this time, John had to admit that Sherlock had a point. The movie wasn't realistic at all, otherwise the main characters would have all died in the first twenty minutes of it, therefore Sherlock's criticism was justified. Not that Sherlock would have stopped his complaints if they weren't. John still remembered that one time, he had been forced to threaten the skull, in order to make Sherlock shut up about Dr. Who.

 

"And how many impacts is the human body supposed to survive. They should be dead by now... at least. Not to mention that they shouldn't have come that far, considering that no one's pain tolerance is so high, without any chemical help, but if they had taken anything..."

 

John stopped paying attention to the movie and to Sherlock's monologue. His sole focus was on his friend, how he gesticulated with his hands, glared at the characters and cursed the movie directors without using any vulgar language. It was amazing... almost like any other evening. But only almost, as they didn't sit in opposite armchairs, but shared the couch between them - John couldn't remember if he had ever sat on it before for more than five minutes, before Sherlock had claimed it for himself. It felt right to sit close to Sherlock and  
John would have moved even closer to his friend - pressing their thighs together and leaning against him - but self-protection kept him at a safe distance from his gesticulating friend. A near miss with an elbow was enough of a warning. Still, John mused as he watched how Sherlock tore at his hair when another near death situation ended with the main characters still alive, he would really like to get a little closer to his friend. After all, the few kisses they had shared at the spa and while cleaning the table after dinner - John had cleaned up, Sherlock had trailed behind him - had been rather nice and... appetizing.

 

"No, don`t tell me... Ahh, no one is supposed to survive such an explosion. If people were so hard to kill, I wouldn't have anything to do. John!" Blue eyes looked pleadingly at him and a pout shaped Sherlock's full lips as he blinked helplessly at his friend. Really, John hadn't known that Sherlock could look so adorable... like an annoyed kitten.

 

"John, please," Sherlock gestured to the TV, wincing as the main characters escaped yet another brush with death unscathed. "I can't stand it any longer. I feel like I will degenerate to Anderson's brain capacity if I watch this crap for another second."

 

"The remote is just over there." John gestured to the table, only to have Sherlock glare at him like he had suggested for him to walk to the other end of London, instead of stretching out his arm. "Oh well," John grinned and grabbed for the remote, successfully ending Sherlock's torture, which was commented by a relieved sigh from the mad genius.

 

"So," John cocked his head to the side and regarded Sherlock with an innocent expression. "What do I get for my troubles?"

 

The only warning John got was a predatory gleam in the depths of blue eyes, before he was pushed back on the couch at the same time as hungry lips attacked his mouth. Dear God, John gasped, when teeth nipped at his lower lip and a skilled tongue teased the abused flesh a second later. He had hoped for a little kiss, maybe some snogging, when he had asked that question and instead he got... an armful of the most sexy and only consulting detective in the world. It was like a dream!

 

A groan was torn from his throat, when long fingers sneaked under his T-shirt to roam over his chest and played with his nipples. The buds of flesh hardened under the ministration of skilled fingers and sparks of arousal shot directly to his crotch, when Sherlock pinched them lightly. Fuck, John had never had a lover, who was so eager to play with his nipples before- neither man nor woman - and he only now realised how much he had missed out on until today. Sherlock was merciless as he rubbed and rolled his nipples between his fingers, until John didn't know if it was too much or not enough. And all the time, Sherlock's lips were on his. Teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh and an eager tongue pushing between John's parted lips and... Oh! A shiver ran through John's body as Sherlock pressed his pelvis down against him and he felt for himself just how aroused they both were. John buckled his hips and earned a groan from his lover, when their lengths brushed against each other. Pajama bottoms weren't a very effective barrier after all.

 

"Oh, John!"

 

Lips moved from John's face down to his neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh, while their lower bodies rubbed together and... Holy shit, John gasped for breath, when teasing fingers brushed over the tip of his clothed erection. The touch like the tickling of a feather through the fabric on his hot flesh. He couldn't remember the last time, he had had such a hot and dirty making out session on the couch. No, John doubted that he had ever experienced something as... thrilling before. Unfortunately, if they kept going like this, then it would be over all too soon, as John already felt the first drops of pre-come leaking from his cock.  
A rather fast sexual encounter for a first time... First time! John's eyes snapped open and somehow he managed to bring his hands up to stop Sherlock's movements and held him still.

 

"John?"

 

Sweet mother of Jesus, Sherlock was lovely... and sexy as hell like this. His curls were a complete mess. His lips red and swollen from kissing. Blue eyes, stormy and dark, feverish with need and lust... and a little confused at the sudden stop. John chuckled and reached out a hand to stroke Sherlock's cheek gently. "I know that you like to jump head first into everything, but... I think we should slow down a little."

 

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow at that, as if this was the most stupid thing he had ever heard.. "Really, John. You want to stop now and deal with this," One finger stroked along the length of John's cock and made him gasp. "On your own?"

 

Helplessly, John shook his head and mentally grabbed around for the last pieces of common sense. "I didn't say anything about stopping, I just thought that we could go slower. It's all a little sudden and..." Blue eyes darkened farther, but this time not with lust, but with anger, when Sherlock sat up on his knees abruptly and glared down at John. "You don't have to coddle me, John. Some pervert might have touched me today, but I assure you that I'm not doing this as some kind of shock therapy. So, don't even think of touching me with kid gloves or this won't work!"

 

Sherlock was still glaring at John, but his eyes also held a so far unknown vulnerability and John suddenly understood. "Your first lover... he didn't stop treating you like..."

 

"Like I was made of glass, yeah!" Sherlock huffed angrily and John couldn't help but chuckle as he sat up as well and placed both of his hands on his lover's shoulders. "I assure you that I won't treat you like you are made of glass and if you say that you are fine... I believe you, although you know that you can tell me whenever..."

 

Sherlock interrupted John's rambling with a roll of his eyes. "Yes, John, if I'm uncomfortable with anything, I'll tell you, although that won't happen. And now," Blue eyes narrowed at him once more. "Tell me why you interrupted our making out session if you neither want to stop nor to coddle me."

 

Now, it was John's turn to roll his eyes as he gestured to the sofa and then to their state of dress. "Call me a hopeless romantic, but I don't want our first time to be a quick shag on the couch."

 

Sherlock pursed his lips as if deep in thought and John had to take a deep breath to keep himself from kissing them once more. Seconds ticked by and John almost regretted that he had interrupted their lovemaking as his body cooled down slowly. He was just about to tell Sherlock that he had changed his mind and that there was enough time for slow lovemaking later, when Sherlock's beat him to talking. "You are a hopeless romantic, but," Sherlock grinned at him and got to his feet, extending his hand to John. "You have a point and my bed is certainly much more comfortable than the couch."

 

A sigh of relief whooshed out of John and he didn't need another invitation as he took Sherlock's hand and let him lead the way to his bedroom. When Sherlock pushed the door open, John had come up with half a dozen ideas to make this evening special for his new lover. It might sound absolutely sappy, but John wanted their first time to be memorable. Not perfect, as he had learned that striving for perfection while in bed with a lover, only ever led to awkwardness and disappointment. Therefore, it just had to be an experience, they could both think of fondly.

 

"I thought you wanted to slow down, so that we could undress completely and not come all over our clothes... or did I get something wrong?" John's head snapped up at that and his mouth started watering right away, when his eyes landed on Sherlock's naked body. Christ, but he was beautiful! All sharp angles and pale skin, Sherlock could be a sculpture made by Michelangelo, broken free from a block of marble. Only his cock wasn't as pale as the rest of him, as it stood at attention with a perfectly flushed head and begging John to touch it. He licked his lips and felt his own cock twitch in his pajama bottoms as if urging him to free it already. God, but getting his clothes off, would entail to avert his eyes from Sherlock for a second and that just seemed to be unbearable at the moment.

 

"Oh for Christ's... You are unbelievable!" And then Sherlock's hands were on him, tugging his T-shirt over John's head and fumbling with the waistband of his pajama bottoms. All the while pushing John farther into the room, until his knees hit the edge of the bed.

 

"Sit down!" John gasped and moaned at once, when his cock was freed from its woolen prison and Sherlock threw his bottoms away. Sharp blue eyes followed the length of John's cock from its base to its head. Probably cataloging the path of every vein and just how much blood was circulating through them during intercourse and... God! John felt his cock twitch and grew even harder at the thought that Sherlock could learn so much of him, by just looking at his erection. God, he was screwed!

 

"I wonder if it were possible to make you come without even touching you. It certainly seems possible, judging from your reactions." Sherlock's voice sounded curious and John shook his head in desperation. He didn't want this night to end in an experiment, although it certainly sounded like a great idea for another time.

 

Either Sherlock had read his mind or he had come to the same conclusion, as he crawled on the bed next to John and a second later they were kissing again. It started sweet, only to grow more passionate as the minutes passed and they sank back onto the mattress, facing each other and panting in each other's mouth as their heated body were pressed together. Usually, John would have his doubts about the wisdom of their actions, only a few hours after they had admitted to their feelings for each other in the course of a sexual assault on Sherlock. It appeared like the epitome of stupidity to carry on like this, but... they both wanted it. Sherlock wasn't nervous in the least, didn't hesitate to touch John, wherever he wanted and he didn't flinch away, when John explored his body in return. Besides, Sherlock had initiated it and John guessed that he would be in for an epic sulk and - or - a tantrum if he so much as hinted that they should wait for this. He just would have to be more watchful than usual during sex for any signs of discomfort from his lover and they should be fine.

 

"You are thinking again," Sherlock murmured from where he was kissing and sucking at John's throat. "Stop it, I know what's on your mind, but I told you, I'm fine." Blue eyes looked up at him in a silent challenge and John just nodded. He believed Sherlock. "Good," His friend purred. "Now, that we have settled this..."

 

John gasped. A wet tongue ran along the lines of his scar. Lips kissed along the same path, only to be followed by fingers a second later. It should feel strange, as a part of the scar tissue was numb, but instead it felt like... worship. No one had ever touched John's scar like this before and... God and no one else, but Sherlock, would ever touch it again - if it wasn't a medical professional - if John had any say about it.

 

"Maybe, it was good that you didn't allow me to touch in the Jacuzzi." Blue eyes gleamed mischievously and John groaned as a single finger trailed a path down John's abdomen to nudge his erect cock playfully. "You might have embarrassed yourself, although," John moaned again, when Sherlock stroked his hard length. "I have to say that there is nothing you have to be embarrassed about." Sweet Jesus, if Sherlock kept on speaking in innuendos outside of bed, John would be lost. Not that he already wasn't, but... He didn't get to finish the thought, when Sherlock slipped between John's legs and started licking his... thighs. It shouldn't feel so fucking good to have your thighs licked and your knees rubbed, but... God help him, but John doubted that anything wouldn't feel good right now. Sherlock could probably cut him open and John would still come from the sensation... but it would certainly be safer not to mention that thought to his lover.

 

John's cock twitched in anticipation, when Sherlock's mouth got closer to it and John almost sobbed in frustration, when his lover only sucked a love bite to the inside of his thigh, instead of... Well, sucking him off.

 

"Sherlock!" John protested, when his lover blew a raspberry on his navel, instead of putting his mouth to where it was wanted. A low chuckled sounded from between his legs and John propped himself up on his elbows to meet twinkling blue eyes. "Has someone ever told you that you are impatient, John?" The question was delivered with a smile and was obviously rhetorical, as John didn't get the chance to respond to it. Wet lips closed around the head of John's cock, sucking carefully on it and being joined by a skillful tongue a second later. John's arms buckled and he lay back down on the bed, while Sherlock worked him with expertise.  
Sweet heaven, who would have thought that Sherlock was so skilled with his mouth?! John moaned, when his throbbing cock was surrounded by wet, tight heat. It felt so good, so fucking perfect! 

 

"Oh my... Sherlock!"

 

A chuckle sounded from his lover, vibrating through John's whole body and pushing more blood into his groin. If Sherlock kept going like this, John wouldn't be able to hold out much longer and... Fingers fondled his balls, rubbing them with just the right kind of pressure to bring John even closer to the edge. Sherlock's mouth around his cock, one hand on his balls and the other... 

 

"Fuck!" John exclaimed, when one finger teased his perineum, pressing expertly right where his prostate was positioned on the inside and... that did it for John "Sherlock, I'm... coming!"

 

John wouldn't have hold it against Sherlock if he had drawn away, but he stayed exactly where he was and John screamed as he exploded into his lover's mouth. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed down on him and he couldn't do more than hold onto the covers, until the last shudder ran through his body.

 

"Oh my God," he gasped and his voice came out hoarse. "That was fantastic!" A low chuckle and then Sherlock was snuggling against him and John groaned when their lips met and he tasted himself. They lay there for some time, just kissing and breathing, until John became aware of the hardness that nudged against his hips and his eyes snapped open.

 

"Sherlock..."

 

Christ, there he had promised himself that he would undo his lover and then John was so selfish to completely forgot about Sherlock's pleasure. He sat up and glanced down the length of Sherlock's body. His proud erection lay against his belly and John suddenly very much wanted to feel Sherlock coming at his hands. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

 

A tongue darted out to lick dry lips and then Sherlock's deep baritone echoed through the room. "Anything, John."

 

A smile lit up John`s face at these words. That was certainly something he could work with and he swore to himself that he would make it as good for Sherlock as it had been for him.

 

OOO

 

Sherlock gulped, when John's gaze wandered up and down his body, a small smile turning John's lips upward as his eyes lingered on Sherlock's cock a little longer. Dear God, but John was sexy as hell. Sherlock couldn't recall a time, when giving a blowjob at felt so pleasurable to him. John had made the most wonderful noises, when he had come apart under Sherlock's hands and mouth. It had been exactly what he had needed after the events of today. Sherlock hadn't lied, when he had told John that his actions had nothing to do with some kind of shock therapy. The pervert hadn't scared him of sex - shaken his confidence, yes - but Sherlock had still needed some proof for himself that he truly wasn't scared, as strange as it sounded. Add to the fact that Sherlock had wanted to have sex with John for ages and the honest confession of his lover and Sherlock's actions had been perfectly logical... except for the part, where he was driven with lust and want. 

 

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted, when John's lips found his again and Sherlock was all too willing to melt into the kiss. What started gentle, soon turned more heated and Sherlock groaned when John's hand wrapped around his throbbing erection. A few strokes later, pre-come was leaking freely from the tip of his cock and Sherlock couldn't do anything, besides panting into John's mouth. He certainly wouldn't mind coming like this, from his lover's hand on his cock, but it appeared that John had something else in mind. Without protest, Sherlock allowed John to turn him on his stomach. He groaned when his needy cock came into contact with the cool covers, followed by a moan, when John kneeled over him, his legs on either side of Sherlock. It was clear that this encounter wouldn't lead to penetrative intercourse - John wasn't that young anymore - and it made Sherlock even more curious to know what John had in mind.

 

"You are so beautiful." Sherlock hummed contently at the compliment and sighed in bliss, when John's hands started kneading his shoulders. Really, it shouldn't feel so good to have John's fingers working lose the hard tendons of his muscles, but it did. Sherlock relaxed into the touch, calculating every movement of John's hands on his back and sighing contently as the tension - he hadn't even been aware of - left his body. By the time, John had moved down to his sides, Sherlock felt like his whole body was made of butter, except for his hard cock that poked into the mattress. The need to get off wasn't as overwhelming anymore as only minutes ago, but Sherlock didn't mind that in the least. He trusted John that they would get there in time. Therefore, Sherlock moaned in approval, when John started massaging his buttocks. He had always liked having his behind touched by his lovers and that it was John, who did the touching... Well, it certainly explained why more heat rushed towards Sherlock's groin at once. 

 

Minutes passed and the only noises in the bedroom were Sherlock`s panting, the rustling of the covers and John's repeated praises. When his lover inched back a little farther to kneel between Sherlock's spread thighs and urged him to lift his hips a little, Sherlock expected John to ask him for lube, but like so often John managed to surprise Sherlock.

 

"Oh God!"

 

Sherlock groaned, when John parted his buttocks and blew against his hole. A shudder ran down Sherlock's spine as the action was repeated. For the love of... Did John truly plan to do what Sherlock was thinking? 

 

He did!

 

A surprised scream was torn from Sherlock's lips as John's tongue licked a wet trail between his buttocks and over his hole.

 

John stopped. "Good?" He asked, with only the tiniest hint of uncertainty in his voice. His breath tickled Sherlock's hot flesh and he groaned once more.

 

"Yes, I... if you really want to do that." Sherlock certainly wouldn't ask something of John, he wasn't willing to give. There was no way of knowing for Sherlock if his lover had ever indulged in this particular act before. Therefore, it could very well be that John had started something, that he wasn't certain he liked himself. If that was the case and John would rather stop...

 

A quiet chuckle interrupted Sherlock's musings. "No, you are the one who is over thinking everything - as usual. Stop it and just relax, I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to do."

 

All too happily, Sherlock accepted John's words as the truth and did as he was told. He was rewarded with another lick over his perineum. This time the tongue stayed right over his hole, teasing the ring of muscles with its tip and wringing moan after groan from Sherlock`s throat.

 

"Oh... John!" Sherlock pushed back up against John's tongue as the tip of it pushed into his hole, licking his insides and making him tremble with want. How had Sherlock not known that this could feel so incredible good? His cock gave a needy throb, when John's tongue pushed deeper into him and Sherlock almost regretted that he had lifted his hips. It was impossible to find any friction like this and he wasn't certain if he could took himself in hand, without losing his balance in the process. Holy shit, but this was torture of the sweetest kind. Sherlock groaned and then screamed, when John all but sucked at his hole.

 

"Oh my sweet... Fuck!"

 

John chuckled and his breath tickled Sherlock's cool and slick flesh, sending sparks through his body and directly to his groin. His cock was heavy between his legs, his balls drawn back and pre-come leaked freely from the tip of it and still... Sherlock wasn't quite there yet. His whole being was yearning for release - dancing on the edge for some time now - but it was as close as it was far away.

 

Sherlock whimpered, a half-sob escaping his lips, when John's tongue pushed into him once more. It felt so good and yet... it wasn't enough, didn't get far enough and...

 

"Please!" Sherlock gasped, wriggling his arse and not even sure for what he was begging. Just that he wanted to come, that he needed to... Oh yes!

 

Sherlock buckled his hips, when John's tongue was replaced by a single finger. It slipped easily past his well relaxed muscles and into his slick hole. Sherlock pushed back to take it in deeper, to get it where he wanted it and thanked every higher power - in which he didn't believe - that John was a doctor, when he found Sherlock's prostate right away. A few brushes against the sensitive spot in him was all Sherlock needed, before his world exploded around him. His cock spurted its semen against his belly and onto his stomach as Sherlock's orgasm crashed down around him. He was faintly aware of John's finger rubbing him through his release and his own screams, but the rest of him was completely concentrated on the pleasure that surged in waves through his body. Sherlock couldn't remember having such an intensive orgasm ever before. 

 

It probably explained why he found himself snuggled against John's side, with his head bedded on his good shoulder, without any idea how they had gotten into this position. Heat crept into Sherlock's cheeks as he wondered if he had passed out for a few seconds. How very...

 

"You were fantastic!" A kiss was pressed to his forehead and Sherlock led go of whatever mortification he had felt at John's praises. "So sexy and hot, if I were younger, I would have come from watching you alone."

 

This time, the blush was for absolutely the right reasons, when Sherlock leaned up a little to press his lips to John's. The taste of himself on his lover was certainly worth the effort of leaning up on his elbow. Still, Sherlock couldn't stay in this position for long and therefore, he lay back down again. He had never felt so relaxed after sex before and the drying slickness between his cheeks wasn't disturbing at all. In fact, Sherlock realised, when he wriggled his hips a little, it had been exactly what he had needed, without knowing it. John's intimate touch replacing the memory of the assault from the pervert in his mind and linking this part of his body to something pleasant again. Fascinating how his mind worked.

 

"You are grinning." Sherlock nodded against John's collarbone and pressed his lips to John's neck, feeling the slowing heartbeat of his lover, while Sherlock's own limbs grew heavy. He was already half asleep, when four simple words, that had been on the tip of his tongue ever since John`s confession, tumbled from his lips. "I love you, John."

 

A content sigh was the answer, as John's fingers ran through his curls and Sherlock allowed his eyes to fall close as he gave into the exhaustion of his body. "I love you, too."

 

Sherlock's last conscious act - before sleep claimed him completely - was to smile against his lover's skin as the words and John's warmth enfolded him in a cocoon of safety and love.


End file.
